


Constants

by amuk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, against all odds, Dad is constant. --Jane, John, and the enigma which is Dad</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constants

**Author's Note:**

> For: HS World Cup Bonus Round 2
> 
> Prompt: John&Jane // "Fernweh," German. Means "feeling homesick for a place you have never been."
> 
> A/N: and I can’t write enough jokes at all to do these two justice.

“Dad’s here too? I know this universe is kinda like mine, but that’s just freaky.” John takes the photo from Jane, staring at it. “He even looks the same.”

 

“He’s your dad too?” she asks, surprised.

 

“Yeah—oh man, I never thought I’d get to see him again.” John touches the photo, his fingers tracing the edges of the man they both know.

 

Jane catches a glimpse of something wistful in his eyes, something sad. It disappears when he looks back at her, a smile on his face.

 

“Does Dad still like baking? And clowns? Well, he might not have really liked clowns—that was just me and my messed up drawings.”

 

“He bakes all the time,” Jane answers, rolling her eyes. Not that she minds entirely, but sometimes she’d like to use the oven. “Don’t know about the clowns, haven’t seen it.”

 

“How did even that pipe and hat survive?”

 

“Maybe he was born with it.” They look at each other and start laughing.

 

“He never takes it off!”

 

“I bet he’s bald underneath it.”

 

“If he takes it off, he’ll contact his mothership.”

 

“The light bouncing off his shiny head is the signal.”

 

“Maybe he’s sending secret messages through his smoke rings.”

 

“No, it’d have to be his cakes.”

 

That last one sends them both rolling. Their Dad is just such an  _ordinary_  guy—persistent, loving, but  _ordinary_  in comparison to all that is happening to them.

 

Jane’s still hunched over when John sits down, running a hand through his hair.

 

“In my world, you’re my Nanna.” John chuckles. “You still are—your ashes are prototyped in my kernel.”

 

“What?” Jane stares at him. “That’s weird.” She still wants to meet herself. The pranks they could together—and John, he can join too. He’s decent. “You’re my Poppop.”

 

“And somehow, Dad’s still the same.” John looks at the picture in his hand again, a little crumpled from the laughter. Smoothening it, he stares at the image again. “But he’s not my Dad is he?”

 

Jane quietens, watching him. “No, I guess not.”

 

“Mine’s still dead.” He looks up at the sky now. “Maybe I can find him in a dream bubble.”

 

She doesn’t ask what that is, still staring at him. John looks so alone right now, and whether he’s her Poppop or not, it’s not right.

 

“You want to meet my Dad?” she asks.

 

“Could I?” There’s a longing in his voice, she recognizes it from when she thought her Dad was dead.

 

She would have given anything then to see him one more time.

 

“Yeah.”  He can’t be a replacement, she knows that. But…even if they are different people, she knows Dad is still Dad.

 

And that in itself is comforting.


End file.
